


Reduce, Reuse, Recycle (The Earth Day Remix)

by livii



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Community: remixredux09, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:10:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livii/pseuds/livii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River swears by her diary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reduce, Reuse, Recycle (The Earth Day Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neveralarch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Recycling](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/3028) by neveralarch. 



> Thanks to Paranoid Angel for beta reading. This was written pre-season-six, so does not take any of the canon about River or the Doctor revealed therein into account.

River will never, ever let the Doctor read her diary. It says not to, right there on page forty-five, in big, bold letters. “FOR ALL THAT’S HOLY,” it says, “DON’T LET HIM READ THE DAMN DIARY.” She’s not sure at what point she will be writing that down, but it seems, from the vigour in the writing and language, that it’s pretty sound advice.

Of course, on page one hundred and seventy-three, it also says “Let the Doctor read your diary once in a while. Just a few pages. It won’t hurt anything.” The writing, though, is a little off. A little slanted, a little small. She has her suspicions about page one hundred and seventy-three, but she’d never say anything, of course.

River’s not that type of woman. Embarrassing payback is more her style. Maybe page ninety-three, for example.

“Utopia?” she asks innocently. “Fantastic idea.”

*

It doesn’t hurt that River has seen pictures of Professor Yana. She’s always had a thing for older men. Older being relative, of course. Everything was relative when you were River Song and your boyfriend was the Doctor, but even more so when your boyfriend’s ex-lover was involved.

Besides, he didn’t _know_ he was a megalomaniac psychopath at that particular point in his timeline. If she had to rule out lovers based on past events and known futures, she’d be spending a lot more nights alone than would be strictly good for her mental health.

And really, there are definitely times when plotting ways to destroy the Doctor sound really tempting. The babbling, for example. Sometimes endearing; other times she thinks she’s never going to get proper oral again because he just won’t _shut up_. Lack of good oral sex is a crime punishable by death on five planets she knows of. And on one of those planets they don’t even have anything humanoids would recognize as _mouths_.

*

So she didn’t, technically, _have_ to wear such a low-cut shirt that day. But she has such magnificent breasts; why not use them to their full advantage?

*

It is, of course, a damn dirty shame that the whole thing with Yana, and the Doctor, and Martha and Jack happened. Page ninety-three is pretty bleak. The whole decimating the Earth and all that. Being a completely rubbish Prime Minister. But the point is, what River has learned from no less of an authority than the Doctor himself, is that _it happened_ , and thus it will always happen, and that her trifling little presence here won’t really make a difference in the grand scheme of things.

Well, other than the dog thing, and the wizened old gnome, which, apparently, were directly the result of River deciding they needed to fuck Yana. But that’s okay. Really, as far as punishments from megalomaniac psychopaths go, it’s not that bad. One time she was turned into a newt, for god’s sake. At least they both got better.

*

 _Damn_ , she thinks, as she watches the Doctor suck Yana’s cock. _That’s focus. That’s dedication. The bastard._

Yana opens his eyes, as if somehow he could read her thoughts - which, she thinks, he maybe actually can, Time Lords have so many bizarre and ever-changing talents - and clears his throat.

“Right,” River says, taking charge. “Doctor, can you find the condoms?”

*

While the Doctor is rifling through her jacket, River leans in to whisper in Yana’s ear.

“I’m not as heartless as I look,” she says.

Yana laughs, a nervous, excited sort of sound. “I never thought you were, my dear.”

“Well,” River says, “if you knew the whole story, you might think differently. But it’s a bit of a game the two of us have, and it all comes out even in the end. Well, except for when I go on winning sprees. Which does happen a lot. But what I mean is, this is just a distraction for me, but for you two boys, it’s a bit more serious. I promise I’m not like this all the time - my diary says so, at least. But right now, this is the most fun I can think of having.”

Yana looks down her shirt again, and smiles. River doesn’t need to be able to read his thoughts to know what he’s thinking, and she grins back.

*

The best part of threesomes, River thinks, as Yana fucks her, is choosing the configuration. It’s like archaeology: decoding the past, deciphering symbols. Bird, bird, basket: King Tut telling a dirty joke.

She’s got Yana on top of her, and the Doctor on top of him. Her curls cascade off the table as she twists and squirms, meeting the two men’s thrusts. The cold metal table is uncomfortable, but it keeps her from falling too far into her thoughts and missing the moment. She watches them, two men both alike in dignity, and wonders how they feel, wonder how much they know. Vulture, vulture, Eye of Horus: next she’s going to fuck the Doctor while Yana goes down on her. The Master, the Doctor has said before, had a clever tongue. She hopes it’s still present, despite his current condition.

Of course, foursomes and fivesomes and the like offer even more permutations, but three is a lovely number, simple and complex at the same time. Two of them, one of her - makes it at least a reasonably fair fight.

*

River Song will never, ever let the Doctor read her diary. It says not to, right there on page one, in a small, soft hand. She remembers when her handwriting was like that: she was young, and she was hopeful.

Time confusion, she thinks. Paradoxes. Reapers. Entropy. Destruction of the universe. One of them, anyway. There were rather a lot.

But really, she knows, as they make hasty excuses to Yana, leaving him sweat-soaked and sated in his lab, and rushing back to the TARDIS, the rule has a different reason. It’s her power; it’s her bravado, it’s her trump card.

She sits in the corner of the control room that evening, watching the Doctor watch her as he pilots the TARDIS somewhere new. She has her favourite pen, and her diary is open and waiting for her words.

 _Utopia_ , she writes. _Don’t visit again. Sad place overall. Sad story. Don’t let the Doctor know. The sex was so good he might not remember anyway._

She smiles up at him as she closes the book. She’ll suggest something less memory-laden to the Doctor next. Something brand new for both of them. Give him a fighting chance, for a change.

Besides, page two hundred says that it’s not going to get better than Yana for a long time, so she might as well wait for a really, really good opportunity instead.


End file.
